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I remember several years ago being asked what a life without trauma looked like. What a life without depression looked like. What it would look like to be healed. That’s when I first had the terrifying realization – I have no idea what it looks like. I have no idea what life without trauma is like, as my trauma is developmental. I have no idea what life without depression looks like, because I don’t have a frame of reference for that.

I often see people say they want to be a child again, because they didn’t have any responsibilities and being a child was carefree. I’ve always been chronically ill. I’ve always been depressed. Being a child again would put me back in a hellhole and isn’t something I want to repeat.

I don’t really want to talk about what my trauma was, but the fact it exists should be enough. It doesn’t change the fact that there isn’t a before trauma and after trauma for me – there’s just trauma and after trauma. There’s just learning how to build a life I never had. Some people rebuild – some people build from the ground up. I find it difficult to physically speak about the way these things affect me.

I often shut down. Shutting down, turning off my emotions, retreating into myself was a way I coped growing up. Either that, or completely melting down. At one point, this is what kept me safe. At this point, my survival strategy is destroying me.

…I sit here locked inside my head, remembering everything you said. The silence gets us nowhere, gets us nowhere way too fast. The silence is what kills me, I need someone here to help me. But you don’t know how to listen, and let me make my decisions…

It’s funny – the same things that keep me going are the same things that destroy me. I feel like so much of me is shaped by my past, so much of me is shaped by what I’ve been… that there’s no way to know who I am when freed of those aspects. I desperately want to know so I’m not merely fueled by anxiety and caffeine. But when your trauma is in your early years, when your depression is lifelong…it’s literally impossible to know what a life is like outside of that.

Sometimes in Facebook groups, I see people ask if they miss the person they were before trauma. If they miss the person they were before they developed psychiatric disabilities. And that isn’t a frame of reference for me. Which I think is part of the reason recovery is so difficult for me – it’s building something entirely new and unknown. And while it’s a lovely prospect and something I want… at the same time, it scares the living crap out of me.

I don’t know what it’s like not to be depressed. I don’t know how not to be anxious. It’s always just been how things are. And while one one hand, that’s not a bad thing… it just means that my life is different from some people’s. It doesn’t mean I cannot one day find a life without depression, anxiety, and trauma… it just means forming the building blocks to THRIVE instead of merely survive is somewhat different than other people.

If you know me at all, you know I love video games. One of my favorites is a little game called Undertale. Now, I am going to write this mostly spoiler-free because of the nature of the game. If you want me to info dump spoilers – I will gladly do that in private. But publicly spoiling the game will have the masses after me because many believe it is best played knowing as little about it as possible. If you haven’t played it, I highly suggest it. It’s available on Steam for Windows, Mac, and Linux. There are also Playstation 4 and Playstation Vita ports of it, with a Nintendo Switch port coming out later this year.

In Undertale, you play as a child traveling through the Underground. A lot of things and stuff happen throughout the game. Toward the end of the game, you look in a mirror and the text displays “It’s you. Despite everything, it’s still you.”

That line alone is my most powerful takeaway from the game. I love Undertale and it’s easily in my top ten favorite video games, if not the top five. The music, the general feel of the game, the way you can tweak your playthroughs… it’s a beautiful, fantastic game. But then there’s that line. And for the most part, the line is always there

It’s you.

Despite everything.

It’s still you.

There’s a lot of things that have happened in my life. My health is horrible. I have lived through many awful things. Life hasn’t been easy.

But despite everything, it’s still me.

Things will get bad. Things will be hard. Life is often a struggle. I’ve lost people I dearly loved, like Beth. I’ve lived through abuse. My health will continue to be a hot mess.

But it’s still me.

There’s a lot of things I can’t control. Life often spirals and turns and twists into a hectic mess – sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, but it’s life all the same. But despite all the things I can’t control, I’m me. I’m still me. The “me” I am changes and morphs due to my situation – sure. But I am still Nora. I am still me.

Despite everything.

I’ve often said I’m like a bouncy ball – I’m resilient as heck. I get thrown down, I bounce back up. Sometimes I may roll away and sometimes I may need help getting back up, but I still bounce back. And I’m still me when I eventually bounce back.

Despite everything.

The entire world often seems determined to push me down. I make choices – some good, some bad. Some I’m proud of, some I regret. But at the end of the day, when I’m preparing to wind down and look at the future – it’s still me.

And the same goes to you.

The world often sucks. Things are often outright hard. You’ll make decisions that you’ll regret, and you’ll make decisions that you’re proud of. Sometimes you’ll be standing there, firmly telling the world that it’s not your time to move anymore. But yet. At the end of the day.

Some walls are made of stone,Sometimes we build our ownSome walls will stand for years,Some wash away with tearsSome walls, some walls

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a ball of nerves and anxiety. Most people know I have a fairly traumatic past, albeit bits and pieces of the details. And many have asked how the heck I survived it. They’ve asked how I’ve gotten through. I’ve always just kind of shrugged – I kind of survived to prove the whole world wrong that I couldn’t (want me to do something? Tell me I can’t or tell me it’s impossible. I WILL prove you wrong.)

I survived by building walls. It wasn’t safe to cope with things as a child, it wasn’t safe to let anyone know how broken and upset I was. So I built walls. For years, those walls have kept me safe. It’s how I survived a painful childhood, it’s how I coasted through college. I wasn’t in a safe place to cope, I wasn’t in a safe place to deal with with everything being thrown at me.

Some walls are lined with goldWhere some hearts stay safe and coldSome walls are made of doubtHolding in and keeping out

And so, I built careful walls to keep myself safe and to, quite literally, survive. I didn’t know who was safe and who wasn’t. I’d been backstabbed so many times that the thought of letting anyone see past the walls was terrifying. I’d break down the walls, little by little, and then realize it wasn’t safe and go back into hiding behind the walls.

After so many years of hiding behind careful walls, it has a tendency to blow up spectacularly in your face. You see, those walls have been up to keep my heart safe. To make sure that no one can hurt me. But here’s the thing.

How will you ever know what might be foundUntil you let the walls come tumbling downIf there’s any hope for love at all,Some walls, some walls must fall

It took years for me to build the walls, years of closing people out and pushing the world away. I don’t know how to let the walls fall. Everything has been cooped up, pushed in, so tightly protected for so long that while the walls need to come tumbling down, I am absolutely terrified of what will happen if I start breaking down the walls. It feels like a dangerous game of Jenga – that if just one brick is removed, things may stay stable but if too many bricks are removed, everything comes crashing down out of control and I won’t be able to stop.

But yet…if I want love to win, if I want to ENJOY my life, if I want to THRIVE, the walls have to come down and I need to deal with the reasons I built them in the first place. If I want to live without fears, pain, and anxiety consuming me…the walls need to come down. I just have so many fears of what will happen if I let the walls come down. But what is scarier? Living with the walls I know and the familiarity of depression and anxiety or finally seeing what is beyond that? Which one is more worthwhile? I just don’t know how to bring the walls down, but I think I’m finally ready to learn.

From the very same fear that makes you want to die,
Is the same fear that keeps you alive

It’s kind of weird. I don’t know what it’s like to not be depressed, to not be anxious. Because I was so young when my trauma started, I don’t know what it’s like NOT to have depression, anxiety, what my life was life Before Trauma. It’s weird, in a way – because this is what I know, the thought of getting better? The thought of not being consumed by things? It’s absolutely terrifying.

I’m not currently suicidal, though I have been in the past. But it’s odd. I was terrified to stay alive. I was terrified that things wouldn’t get better. I was scared to death that things would never change, that I would never see a difference. But at the same time, that very same fear is what kept me going.

Fear often fuels me. In both good ways, and bad ways. At one point, fear is what drove me to the brink of despair, it’s what drove me to self injury. It’s what kept me from moving on with my life. But yet? At the same time, fear is what inspires me to keep going. It’s what keeps my fire burning because I want to see what happens next.

So often I’ve been told that fear is a bad thing. But I don’t know that it always is. I don’t know that fear is always a horrible thing. Fear is often what kept me safe as a child. Fear is often what made me determined to prove the world wrong. It’s ultimately a matter of what we DO with our fear that matters, not fear itself.